


Prakara

by avani



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Compliant, F/M, Missing Scene, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 15:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17164691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: The rafters of the throne room echo with the Queen Mother’s proclamation, and all Devasena can think is that the three worldsoughtto shake.





	Prakara

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ratna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratna/gifts).



The rafters of the throne room echo with the Queen Mother’s pronouncement, and Devasena can only think the three worlds _ought_ to shake.

Not, by any means, because of Sivagami’s petty words, but due to Devasena’s own rage in response. There is a furious roar in her ears that almost drowns out any reasoned thought save this: that if one outburst had already brought Baahubali to such calamity, another such might mean his destruction. Only this curbs her tongue.

He stands beside her, silent and unmoving, head still bowed in obedience to his mother's decree. She wonders if he is waiting for Sivagami to change her mind, to reveal that all this is only a test she had designed to have him prove himself the victor. Devasena would suspect the same if it were her brother who stared at them with such anger; the thought of gentle Jayasena ever rejecting her is so jarring she could only believe it to be a jest. The thought of any family, even that of the lineage of haughty Mahishmati, turning on one of its own so quickly is outrageous.

But Sivagami has never had a reputation for being anything but sincere, and decrees such as hers are never made lightly.

What seems an eternity, but is in fact only the time it takes to take ten breaths, passes, and still Baahubali remains where he is.

Still Sivagami stands on the dais above, her back turned to him.

Still the court’s thousand curious eyes study him, and the whispers that Sivagami’s shout had quelled start anew.

Enough, Devasena thinks suddenly, bile rising in her throat. Baahubali did nothing but follow the decrees of morality: he does not deserve such indignity atop Sivagami’s other injustices. Gently she takes his arm to guide him away; his gaze focuses on her, confused and helpless.

Sudden guilt washes over her, inexorable as the river’s current itself, but time enough to consider that later. She cannot change what has passed. For now, all she can do for him is walk the length of the hall beside him and provide what paltry strength she can—at least assuming he should still welcome such a thing. She would scarcely blame him if he sees her hand on his forearm as an affront, given what has just transpired; but his eyes never leave her face, taking comfort and providing it in return.

The doors close behind them at last, and Devasena finds she can breathe more easily.

And none too soon, too: Madhavi, Lakshmi, Indu, and Pallavi have followed them out of the hall, still uncertainly clutching the plates heaped high with the presents Devasena had meant to bestow upon her in-laws. They left family and country behind for her sake, she reminds herself. These are four lives that depend upon her, four lives that cannot allow her to wallow in her own guilt and grief.

The fifth—the most precious, selfish though it is to think it—stands before her.

Enough, Devasena thinks again, this time directed towards herself. Pindari or public disgrace, she has ever believed herself to be at her best during disaster, and better someone look to the practicalities.

“Will Mahishmati’s famed hospitality lodge us in the corridor, then?” she asks, voice cutting. “Or ought we to return to our cabins on the ship?”

Her ladies-in-waiting goggle, the guards posted at the doors eye her sourly, and Devasena ignores them all. Baahubali, given purpose, speaks at last.

“The guest quarters are this way,” he says, not without relief as he begins to lead the way down a maze of passageways. “Luxurious, or so I’ve been assured--though nothing to those of Kuntala.”

Briskly, Devasena replies: “You’ve no one but yourself to blame for your accommodations. If only you’d been more forthcoming--”

“Did I make any complaint?” says Baahubali plaintively, and behind them, she hears Indu begin to snort with laughter.

The guest quarters prove to be in another building entirely: those once designated as the Queen’s palace, if not used for such a purpose in decades. The Queen Mother proclaimed years before that she would not be separated from the chambers of politics by a courtyard and centuries of protocol, and were it not for recent events, Devasena might applaud her for it. As it is, the reminder of her existence only renders Devasena irritable and Baahubali subdued; the distraction of a servant plucking at Baahubali’s sleeve, therefore, seems outright providential.

At least it does until he stammers out his purpose. “Forgive my disrespect, but I--I meant only to ask what should be done with the Cr--the Prince’s belongings.”

“My belongings? Why should they not stay where they are?”

“Because--” The servant’s eyes fall; his voice falters. Devasena frowns. “The noble Bijjaladeva reminded all that the King’s quarters were no longer to be yours, and--and as to your previous ones, the Queen Mother said only that they were too close to her own.”

A show of childishness as flagrant as any she’s ever seen, and yet Baahubali says not a word in his own defense. So instead Devasena squares her shoulders and commands, in her most authoritative tone: “You may put the Prince’s belongings with my own.”

Sudden silence, and six pairs of startled eyes upon her. Devasena ignores them all. “You have your orders,” she reminds the servant, who blinks and bows his head; and she takes Baahubali’s arm once more. The chime of anklets assure her that her ladies follow, and she enjoys some moments of peace before the weight of the others’ curiosity grows too much to bear.

“There’s no need to seem so scandalized,” she says crossly. “If your guest chambers are anything like our own, there are enough bedrooms allocated to a wing to respectably house an entire delegation.”

Baahubali quirks his eyebrows in amusement but offers no argument. Devasena must be satisfied with so small a victory--if a respite to Baahubali’s grief could be considered a trivial thing-- as they continue to cross the courtyard.

*

In fact a single suite of the Queen’s Palace is enough to respectably house at least three delegations of the size Kuntala customarily sends abroad. Devasena relishes being right; if not, she would have to remember exactly what had happened in the throne room earlier that morning, and how her carefully-laid plans had all gone wrong--

No. She has no time to indulge in such. Instead she explores her new quarters with much curiosity and some contempt for Mahishmati’s customs: for who else would have decided visiting dignitaries had a pressing need for a reception hall in their own chambers? And, one too, so extravagantly festooned, with a pattern of peacock feathers worked into the ceiling. It seems designed only to impress upon the viewer the kingdom’s opulence, and Devasena cannot approve of it, much less imagine making such a place her abode.

She will have to, it seems, for Sivagami shows no signs of selecting new chambers for her future daughter-in-law. If anything she seems hopeful that Devasena will obligingly disappear some blessed morning, and allow the Queen Mother to continue her domestic tyranny. Well; then so be it. Neither Devasena nor her ladies shy at honest labor.

And labor it is, to remove ornate tapestries from every other wall and substitute plain but practical furniture in place of that provided. Truthfully Devasena has never taken much interest in decoration, happy to submit to Sumitra’s superior taste, but now she finds she has no choice. Not, at least, when the alternative is encountering yet another cast-metal lion or elephant head in the most inopportune places.

By evening, with honest Kuntalan cushions scattered about, and the glare of giltwork reduced, the rooms appear almost habitable. The last of Baahubali’s possessions arrive, and with some relief Devasena notes they are as utilitarian as her own. He is perfectly content to put his own clothes away in a wardrobe--rather haphazardly, much to Pallavi’s horror. Madhavi sits herself down to inspect what volumes of literature he owns and pronounces herself satisfied, and Lakshmi goes to request dinner be brought up from the kitchens.

“For certainly everyone else must have dined already,” she says reasonably, though the sun has barely set. “We should not like to inconvenience them.”

“Of course not,” says Devasena, and does not allow herself to wonder at her own cowardice.

*

She still does not, even later that night, as she and Baahubali put away their weapons in the bedroom she’s selected as her own: _their_ own. Her mouth goes dry.

Ignorant to her thoughts, Baahubali remarks, “The news will be all over the palace by dawn, you know.” Those words at least she knows all too well, and can laugh off easily enough.

“And so it should,” Devasena retorts. “We Kuntalan barbarians are well-known to be brazen, after all.”

A gamble, a risky one, but one that meets with success: her betrothed’s eyes crinkle with silent laughter.

“Bold,” he corrects kindly, “even when you ought to know better--”

“Brave,” interrupts Devasena. “You mean to say ‘brave and beyond selfish considerations.’”

“Prone to distraction--”

“Only when there’s something worth our attention.”

“Dangerous,” he says, and their eyes meet. So that’s how it shall be.

“Very,” she manages at last, as he closes the war-chest beside the bed and rises.

“The hour grows late,” he says, “I should--”

Longing hangs between them, heavy as any veil and almost as palpable, and Devasena’s hands itch to brush it aside. It seems far longer than the span of two weeks that she’s waited; longer even than the span of her entire life. Better to settle the question now, before her courage fails her entirely.

“You might stay,” she blurts. “If you so wish.”

He raises her hands to his lips. His response is everything she might desire.

*

Mahishmati smells of dust, Devasena reflects the next morning: stone, too, without any of the sweetness of Kuntala’s many gardens. Sandalwood is burned instead, in the flames that dot the palace grounds, though all in vain. Beneath it all, a hint of the metallic lingers--or of blood.

Nonsense! Devasena chides herself, and returns to scrawling out her letter. Not for the first time, she wishes she might have the use of a scribe; but Madhavi still slumbers, and her brother and his wife will want the reassurance of a letter in her own hand, illegible though it might be.

 _To my brother and sister, a thousand greetings_ , Devasena reads again, and stops.

An uneasy balance to strike, explaining what has come to pass while doing so with the utmost unconcern. To understate Sivagami’s wrath might have Jayasena come still expecting a wedding and coronation both; to exaggerate it might frighten him into an ill-considered outright invasion. At last she is pleased with her efforts, and concludes with a blithe promise to visit as soon as she can.

The sun has risen fully; her ladies cluster around her, clutching their own messages to send back home. If they are very fortunate, the ship will not yet have left to return to Kuntala; if the captain has heard the gossip in riverside taverns, certainly it will not have.  She hesitates, before raising her head once more. She is a princess, no prisoner: she is free to go wherever she pleases.

The docks are easy enough to find; constructed from heavy sandstone like much else in the city, and ten times as crowded as Kuntala’s port. Merchants flow here and there, arguing with each other and the local authorities; the river rushes back and forth at their feet. The Kuntalan state ship stands out among them like a star, the care and love placed into its carvings apparent, and Devasena bites back a surge of sudden pride.

“Crown Princess,” her captain welcomes her, and she smiles, relieved to see another familiar face. She can count them on both hands now. It was not always so.

“Mukundan,” she greets, and offers him a pouch containing all the letters he is to take place, and then, before she can think better of it, she asks: “What are they saying, here outside the palace?”

The populace of Mahishmati had seemed to like her well enough the morning before, at least by the flashes she’d caught of them laughing and cheering. Had they believed she was to be the bride of the wrong prince, too? Surely not; they had approved too much of the closeness between her and Baahubali as he’d whispered in her ear on the way to the palace, at times pointing out sites of interest among the way and other times only making her blush.

But things were different now, now that word would have spread that they were to have a new king, and that the foreign princess was to blame. Devasena does not fear Sivagami’s disapproval; that of Sivagami’s people, whom Devasena must live among and protect, she does. So was she raised.

Mukundan smiles ruefully at her. “Bhallaladeva no one’s choice of King, Baahubali blameless, and the Princess Devasena beloved for his sake. But they do not say a word against the Queen Mother. They will not doubt her, even now; they trust she has a deeper scheme in mind.”

Nothing deeper than spite, Devasena thinks irritably. No sense in sharing that. She nods in gratitude for her captain’s service, and watches alongside her ladies as his ship sets off once more for Kuntala.

For an instant she half-wishes to join him, to return to a sane, safe existence. But while love is neither safe nor sane, it is far more enjoyable than the alternative, and she has never been a coward.

The crowds cheer again, no less subdued, as they see Devasena on her way back, and she remembers what Mukundan had said: _beloved for Baahubali’s sake._ Kuntala might be left behind, but a new home might be waiting here.

A meager hope to swallow, but it is all she has.

*

Very little, it seems, must be changed for the coronation. So highly does Sivagami value her sons, that one can easily be substituted for the other. Baahubali, at least, seems to take his changed position in the ceremony seriously; he spends most of his time drilling his men to ensure no mistakes are made.

Kattappa’s role is not altered, but still he pleads the excuse of making preparations whenever she tries to seek him out, hoping to restore their past easy banter. At first he offers some nonsense about it not being a slave’s place to associate with a princess, then only that he is needed elsewhere. Yet Madhavi and Pallavi report that more often than not, Kattappa is to be found sitting despondently upon the stairs.

In this Devasena can interpret nothing but his anger at what’s happened, and it makes her heart ache.

The armory of Mahishmati is not lost to her, and it is here that Devasena takes her solace. They might not have the bow as lightly strung she prefers, or arrows that are thatched as carefully as those back home, but she makes do with what she can.

She’s occupied so when the elder prince swaggers off the training field, dragging his mace behind him. That is no way to treat a weapon, Devasena thinks before she can help it, but she forces herself to put on a friendly smile nonetheless. She has no quarrel with him. Bhallaladeva had no part to play in the unfortunate events that transpired, as far as she can she, and in fact suffered as much as she and Baahubali from the misunderstanding.

Bhalla looks briefly from her to the three arrows strung on her bow and grunts: “Not you, too. I thought I’d seen enough of that child’s trick the summer Baahu nearly sliced off his fingers for it.”

Devasena’s smile grows rather more genuine. She had forgotten, for a moment, that Bhalla had grown up alongside Baahubali, had loved him, in his way, as much as she. In time, he might become a friend himself, and that is what she has greatest need of—

“How old Kattappa howled about it,” Bhallaladeva murmurs. “Didn’t want his prized pet put out of commission, I take it. And despite all that care, still he lived to see this day.”

Devasena stiffens. Bhallaladeva ignores her, continuing in the same malicious whisper.

“I envied my brother at first, you know,” he says. “I should have known better. Without you, he’d sit on my throne, fool though he is—and for that I must thank you, Devasena, doom to any man who admires your fine form too long.”

It was a mistake, she thinks suddenly, to have taken bow and arrow out. Too tempting by far to release the string, to return the prince’s insult in the only way possible. She doesn’t, though, with the remnants of common sense; Bhallaladeva bows low enough to fool any watchers—and there must have been many, Devasena realizes too late, who look upon the Crown Princess’ glare towards her brother-in-law—that his words were respectful rather than repulsive.

But three pieces of knowledge at least he has given her, and that is what she needs to arm herself in this dangerous court. Bhallaladeva does not love his brother, Bhallaladeva has not forgotten his desire for her, and—most important of all—Bhallaladeva will ever have an enemy in her.

*

She expects an argument that night when she sits in the bedroom, stone-faced, and explains all that has occurred. At the very least, he might dismiss her concerns, pointing out that he had known his brother for years before, and that she was nothing but an interloper.

Baahubali only listens in silence, though, and frowns when her tale is complete. He says: “There has never been a time I recall that Bhalla was not at my side.”

There it is, Devasena thinks unhappily, and cannot even fault him for the accusations, gentle or otherwise, of having misunderstood—if not having outright lied—that will follow. Would she respond so if it were gentle Jayasena accused so? She hopes not; and yet—

Baahubali says, every bit as calmly: “Until now.”

She is surprised into silence, so that Baahubali can go on: “I had neglected to mention before that amidst their other traits, Kuntalans are unquestionably clever—and honest to a fault.”

“But—“ Devasena begins, and wonders, irritably, why she is arguing against herself.

“His heart must have turned from me long before. Perhaps it took seeing all through new eyes to show me the truth of it.” Baahubali sighs. “I had asked those I trusted in the palace how my mother’s promise had come into being. They showed me this.”

He passes her a scroll; Devasena unrolls it to find a portrait of her own self.

“This!” She laughs incredulously at the likelihood of finding it here of all places. “My brother insisted, so that the people might know the face of their princess. I sat for that for _hours_ —and without it, we might even not have met. I’d meant to do away with that particular nest of bandits weeks ago, if my sister-in-law hadn’t delayed me with completing this first.” She lowers the portrait. “What of it, though?”

“This,” Baahubali replies grimly, “was brought to my brother months before, inciting a deep desire on his part to win your hand.”

Devasena stares. “Impossible. That wasn’t distributed until ten days previous at the earliest.”

“Exactly when my brother, after all these months during which neither I nor anyone else noticed anything of devotion and despair, brought his request before Mother.”

The implications take a few moments to sink in, but when they do, Devasena narrows her eyes. “A scheme,” she says, “in which either way he’d win.”

“He couldn’t have known Mother’s anger,” Baahubali points out, but Devasena is in no mind to listen. To think that Bhallaladeva, who she had pitied, had been responsible for so much of her grief; to think that Sivagami the wise had _allowed_ him!

“What now?” Devasena asks at last: a fair question.Her heart, bright with rage, wants to demand that they go to war and take back what’s rightfully his own. Did not Gopala himself argue so when even Arjuna faltered? Her tongue, blessed with slightly more sense, waits for her betrothed’s response.

“All Bhalla wants,” Baahubali says, “is the throne. Let him have it—even Mother said the choice between us was almost too difficult to make. Let him have it, if it will please him, and I can find other ways of performing my duty.”

It is his decision to make, and Devasena must  abide by it. Disappointment wells up sudden and strong, however; she is fiercely glad when no summons to join the family for dinner comes to her from the Queen Mother’s quarters.

*

Her brother and Sumitra arrive with the tide, Kumar Varma in tow. They must have carefully considered how best to represent themselves, for they are all smiles and soothing words. Baahubali appears almost apprehensive at first, but eases soon enough. For her part, Devasena can pretend, if only for these few minutes, that nothing has gone wrong at all. She can ask nothing more from her family.

Their peace comes to an end when Kattappa enters, come to bring the planned events for the coronation on the following morning. Kuntala’s rulers will be seated at the forefront of the dignitaries, as befits close neighbors, but allowed no more clear recognition of the ties of kinship between them. As for Devasena,  she is to take her place beside them, as nothing more than a visiting princess, rather than watching the events from the dais as a soon-to-be member of the Royal Family should. Sivagami could hardly make it clearer that Devasena means nothing to her—and ought not to mean anything of Mahishmati.

“I’ll speak to Mother,” Baahubali offers into the appalled since, but Devasena shakes her head.

“I prefer it so,” she says, voice tight, and she does not lie. Impossible to hide her anger, or pretend she agrees with any of the farce that is to be enacted before her. Impossible, in this moment, not to insist on returning to Kuntala permanently, once the wedding is safely complete.

He loves her, she knows, and whatever momentary pangs at leaving his homeland he might feel will pale in comparison to the insults that are sure to follow. Better to save him now than allow him to destroy himself out of stubborn pride —

“A word, Crown Princess,” Kattappa says quietly at her elbow; the surprise of being addressed by him at last startles Devasena into agreeing without realizing it.

Once they are alone, Kattappa begins: “You May come to conclusions about the state of our kingdom—“

“I think I’ve seen enough,” Devasena snaps. “Enough to make up my mind.”

“And no one would speak a word of blame to you for it,” Kattappa says. “Least of all I. But if you will understand: there is good in this kingdom still, buried somewhere deep within. Will you leave that behind to stay hidden away without he who might bring it out?”

“At what price? One too dear for me to allow him to pay, whatever he might offer.”

Kattappa sighs. “Too well I know that. If, Crown Princess, I might convince him to take you part, I would do it and gladly; but my Baahu might reign an Emperor anywhere else in the world and still find himself less satisfied than if he were serving Mahishmati in the humblest way possible.”

She expected to hear this; but it makes the words no less true. Devasena sighs. “Then what am I to do? Wait and watch in silence?”

That is the greatest impossibility of all, and if Kattappa knows anything at all of her, this should be it. But, rather than make more feeble arguments, he only shakes his head.

“No, Crown Princess,” he says. “I would have you do what I cannot, for my sake: to protect my Baahu, where no one might.”

His voice is clear and strong, she realizes. Not the cringing tones of a servitor, but that of one equal speaking to another, or of a father speaking to his family’s new addition. For the first time she feels welcome here in this unknown city.

Besides, had not Gopala urged the Pandavas to remain and fight, rather than retreat to the relative safety of Virata’s kingdom?

“Very well,” says Devasena. “I shall.”

Come nightfall, she sends no request but rather an announcement of her intention to join Sivagami at the evening meal: far past time the Queen Mother grew accustomed to Devasena’s presence. The meal might pass in stony silence, but her point, Devasena thinks, has been made.

*

In the morning, Devasena wakes early, that she alone is awake to find Baahubali lingering in the main room of the guest quarters. He smiles as soon as he sees her, but not soon enough to hide the ghost of his precious expression; he knows it, too, if his rueful shrug is any indication.

“Not, perhaps, what I promised you,” he says. His voice cracks almost imperceptibly in the middle, and even Kattappa would not have been allowed to see that much.

Devasena does not reply, not when she can take his sword from where it rests and belt it around him. Only when she’s done does she speak; “Mahishmati will never have seen half so fine a commander-in-chief,” she promises, “nor any woman so proud.”

He catches her fingers in his own and holds them close to his chest in those last few heartbeats before he leaves. As the procession passes, she knows, he will not so much as look in her direction, nor speak a single word. But words and looks mean little, not when she can be sure she will be first in his heart and in his thoughts. There is a sweetness to that, enough to outweigh all the bitter. It is enough to build a life on, Devasena decides, and holds her ground.

**Author's Note:**

> For Ratna, as a bonus gift, since she’d long wondered what the sequel to Pravesaka would look like. And though this doesn’t follow immediately afterwards chronologically, it was always meant to be the next canon-compliant Devasena and Amarsena piece. I very much hope you enjoy this, friend!!


End file.
